


that foreseen itch

by palmcitrus



Series: every third echo [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Asexual Character, First Kiss, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Making Out, Partying, au where nothing bad ever happens, jon and martin are both flirty drunks, jtmcu baby!!, tim is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmcitrus/pseuds/palmcitrus
Summary: Jon had stumbled up to Tim and hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt with a low“Hi,”and Tim had laughed, pulling his wrist away, and said, “Yeah, not tonight, buddy, you’re way too far gone. I’m gonna go find Martin and then we can leave, okay?”Martin,Jon had thought hazily.Yes, good idea. Go find Martin.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker (mentioned)
Series: every third echo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810348
Comments: 28
Kudos: 533





	that foreseen itch

**Author's Note:**

> Jon/Tim/Martin cinematic universe baby! let’s kick this thing off!! enjoy!

“God, you two are impossible,” Tim says, tugging on Jon’s arm after he tries to veer off in some random direction off the pavement once more. “You’re both 20 year old sorority girls, for real. Stop _giggling_ so much, geez.” 

“Nooo, we’re cool,” Martin says, though he’s definitely still giggling. “Don’t be such a drag, Tim, you’re not cooler than us just ’cause you’re sober.”

“I definitely am,” Tim says. “Come on. Please act normal so we don’t get kicked out of this Burger King.”

“They don’t kick people out of Burger King,” Jon giggles, and laughs at the eye roll this elicits from Tim. 

His head is swaying pleasantly, and everything is simultaneously more relaxed and more electric than usual right now. It’s been ages since Jon’s been this drunk. 

When Tim had nagged at the archives staff for a club night, his first instinct was to say no, of course. Sasha couldn’t make it anyway, so it wouldn’t even be the whole crew. More importantly, he knows how he gets when he’s drunk, and his tendency to become—well— _riled up,_ so to speak, isn’t a side of himself he’s quite shameless enough to really want to share with his coworkers.

(The two of them that haven’t already seen it, anyway. Tim is a special case.)

“It’s a bad idea,” Jon had complained. “You know how drunk-me is. I’ll be all over you.”

“Then I’ll just shoot you down,” Tim said easily. 

“Then I’ll just be all over some stranger,” he countered. Tim groaned.

“Fine, okay, then, how about this,” he’d said. “I’ll stay sober, or at least I’ll give myself a two-drink limit, and that way I can spend the night making sure you don’t start snogging the first hot person you see, or generally making a fool of yourself. Okay?”

“I wouldn’t be _snogging,”_ he’d protested, voice going defensively higher. “Just—flirting, or something. Whatever. Look, it’s not my fault I get so…”

“Horny?” Tim had suggested, and Jon had smacked his arm. 

“Shut up,” he’d hissed, but he let out a sigh of defeat. “Yes, fine. I’ll go.”

Sober Jon had been right about drunk Jon, though.

After some indeterminate amount of time at the club—it was hard to tell exactly how long it had been, but he was pretty sure he was on his sixth drink—Jon had suddenly realized that his feet were aching, and he hadn’t seen Tim or Martin in a good few minutes.

He’d wandered around, eventually spotting Tim sitting at the bar, chatting with some woman who was actually twirling a strand of hair around her finger. With a flash of some twisting emotion in his chest, Jon had stumbled up to Tim and hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt with a low _“Hi,”_ and Tim had laughed, pulling his wrist away, and said, “Yeah, not tonight, buddy, you’re way too far gone. I’m gonna go find Martin and then we can leave, okay?”

 _Martin,_ Jon had thought hazily. _Yes, good idea. Go find Martin._

Tim offered a quick apology to the woman, who suddenly seemed much more put-out. She took her drink and left, which gave Jon some kind of satisfaction that he wasn’t going to think about too hard about. 

  


Presently, Tim is doing a very dedicated job of shushing the two of them while he buys bottled waters from the vending machine. He presses them into both of their hands when he’s done and shepherds them into a booth in the corner with a muttered, _“Honestly,”_ though Jon can tell he’s secretly amused.

“If Sasha was here, she’d be nicer to us,” Martin whines, though he goes without a fight.

“If Sasha were here, she’d be several drinks deeper than both of you and still way less wasted,” Tim says, and shoves Jon in after Martin. “You two stay here. I’m going get food.” He darts off, and Jon laughs. 

The walls of the booth are impressively high. After a second, Jon realizes that he and Martin are sitting much closer together than is strictly necessary, their thighs pressed together where Tim squished him in. 

He can’t be bothered to move. He picks up his water and smiles for no particular reason, glancing at Martin out of the corner of his eye. His hair has gone wild and messy from dancing. It’s a good look.

Martin rests his chin in his hand and eyes Jon, giving him an amused, thoughtful look. 

“What?” Jon says, taking a sip of his water. He likes the blush behind Martin’s freckles. 

“Don’t you think it’s kind of funny how Tim is fucking both of us?”

Jon chokes on his drink. Martin only quirks an eyebrow, watching. 

“W—I, I didn’t,” he coughs, feeling his face burn. “I didn’t know you, ah. Knew about that.”

Martin laughs and rolls his eyes, and Jon tracks the way his movements are looser when he’s sloshed. “Oh, come on, you know Tim’s not exactly subtle. And neither are you.”

“What does that mean?” Jon says. His startled laugh comes out a bit strange. 

“Oh, you know,” Martin says. “You thought no one saw you do _this_ the other day at lunch under the table?” And there’s suddenly a large, warm hand on Jon’s thigh. 

Jon’s breath catches, and he stiffens ever so slightly, eyes flicking up to meet Martin’s. Martin, still flushed from alcohol, stares back in the way he never does—confident, even a little cocky, with a sideways grin. 

“I-I suppose I didn’t,” Jon says. “Didn’t know you paid so much attention to where Tim’s hands were.”

Martin shrugs. “Well, they look good on you.”

His finger is tracing little circles, nail catching on the fabric of his jeans, and something about that tiny touch is sending sparks down Jon’s spine. 

He knows how to scratch that itch. He knows what he wants to do. But the tiny part of his brain that hasn’t completely given in to all those drinks holds him back. 

“Are you saying you think I’m good-looking, then,” he says, uncharacteristically emboldened, flashing his own sideways grin.

“’Course,” Martin says immediately, and Jon blinks. “You’re very pretty, you know that? You have gorgeous eyes. And really nice hair.”

“My hair—what about _your_ hair,” Jon says, jolted out of his surprise. He shoots a hand up and cards his fingers through Martin’s hair, stroking around to land at the back of his neck. 

Martin inhales sharply at the sudden contact, and his eyes flicker down to Jon’s mouth and back up again. Jon freezes, letting his fingers tangle into Martin’s curls, suddenly thrumming with anticipation. 

“You’re very drunk,” Martin says. His voice is low. 

“So are you,” Jon says. 

“Fair point,” Martin says back, and then his face is suddenly much closer than before, and then they’re kissing. 

Jon’s not sure who started it. He definitely leaned in, he knows that. He wants to know if there are freckles hidden on Martin’s lips. Not that kissing them would help him see that. But it is helping to scratch that itch. 

He brings his other hand up, buries it in Martin’s hair, letting himself angle his head just right. Martin seems to like when he scratches lightly over his scalp. His lips part just a little, and Jon doesn’t think, just lets his tongue slide in. He wants to feel that warmth immediately. 

The change in position shifts his body, so now he’s facing Martin fully, almost pushing him into the booth. His hands land on Jon’s waist. 

His mouth is so good, how did he never think about how nice this would feel? Or, fine, why had he pretended not to? Stupid of him to have been wasting time like that when he could have been doing this. And Martin’s hands on his waist are so big and firm. He tastes like sugary cocktails and kisses better than any drunk man should have the right to. Better than Jon, certainly, who is driven solely by the fire deep in his gut, and the fascinating strangeness of having Martin ( _Martin,_ from _work,_ who’s kissed Tim like this, how fucking strange!) so intimately close. 

“Oh my God,” a voice squeaks behind them. 

They immediately jerk apart in surprise, putting a foot of distance between them as if it’s not too late to hide what they were doing. Tim is standing there with a look of shock—no, not quite, he looks surprised but also maybe a little _impressed?_ —and three plates of food in his hands. 

Martin’s face is beet-red when he says, “This booth is pretty hidden, to be fair.”

Tim glances between their faces, both flushed and staring pointedly away from each other, and his face breaks into a grin. He slides into the booth across from them. “Well. I suppose I’m not entirely surprised by all this, considering.”

Jon is trying very hard to feel mortified. He does, a little bit, but he’s also very drunk, and Martin’s lips were so unexpectedly nice, and some distant part of his brain knows his level of shame will skyrocket in the morning but he can worry about that later. He laughs a bit and slides his foot against Tim’s calf. “What’s that supposed to mean? Have you been _thinking_ about us, Tim?”

“Jesus Christ, Jon, you _are_ a fucking slag when you’re wasted,” Tim hisses incredulously, knocking his foot back. “Keep it in your pants, will you?”

Martin snorts out a laugh, which Jon thinks is unfairly endearing, and Tim says, “Oh, don’t think I’m not talking to you, too. Should’ve known better than to leave the two flirtiest drunks I’ve ever met alone in a booth for two seconds.”

“You’re right, this is— _hic_ —all your fault,” Jon grins. He pulls his plate closer.

“Can’t wait until you two are hungover tomorrow,” Tim says, rolling his eyes. “Really. Sober you and sober you are going to be so fucking awkward about this on Monday.”

“Nah,” he and Martin both say, and erupt into giggles.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Tim mutters. 

Jon smiles at Martin from the corner of his eye, and Martin smiles back. They turn back to their food before Tim can say anything else.

  


**Author's Note:**

> for anyone wondering—the specifics of Jon’s asexuality WILL be discussed later in the series. leave comments and kudos if u enjoyed!! 💕


End file.
